


Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes The Boogeyman

by DemonsPath



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man - All Media Types, Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12413367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonsPath/pseuds/DemonsPath
Summary: How Pitch Black slowly gains and meets his believers, one by one.





	Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes The Boogeyman

_"You can't kill fear, Jack."_

_– Pitch Black (Rise of the Guardians)_

**1.**

_“Children, have you ever met the Boogeyman before?_

_No, of course, you haven't, for you're much too good I'm sure.”_

_._

 

 

Harry James Potter has always like the dark. There, in his tiny little room under the stairs, no one can touch or hurt him. Not even his ‘ _family’_.

 

Where he can be Harry, just Harry. No one to call him a freak. No one to ridicule him. Peaceful. Quiet. _Safe_.

 

Harry is grateful for his cupboard. Mostly. Most night he would look forward to returning to his room. But sometimes, like tonight, he just wishes he could disappear, anywhere but here.

 

He has done something ‘freaky’ again. And his uncle _hates_ it when he does something ‘freaky’ (not that he has any knowledge of the things he was blamed for. If he could control the ‘freaky things’ that his ‘family’ always shouted at him about, he would have made sure it gets his freaking tiny little white lily ass out of this house, this neighbourhood. Far away from his caretakers and never to be returned).

 

You know, sometimes, there are days when you just _know_ it’s going to be _really bad_. Today was one of these days for one little Harry Potter. He had known from the moment he heard his Aunt’s shrilly voice woke him up to the moment he fights Dudley back when his cousin was bullying a kid who was _even smaller_ than Harry.

 

So here he is. Trembling, scared out of his wits, praying to whatever and whoever up or down there to help him – _God, I’m so so so dead. Please please someone please help._ He’s scared, he’s terrified. Even the dark can’t help him when Uncle Vernon lay his hands on him. Another beating, another episode of broken bones and bruises.

 

Harry was _tired_. He used to wonder what was wrong with him. Wonder why his family hated him so much. They are a family, are they not? Family’s supposed to love each other unconditionally. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon adored Dudley, so why not little Harry too? So he wondered and wondered, silently watching and observing, wanting to know _why_.

 

But then one day, he realised it’s not him that was the problem. No, it was the people that are supposed to be ‘his family’.

 

He woke up, suddenly realised that he would never be good enough for them, and went on with his day.

 

After all, what could an abused little boy at the age of eight do?

 

He lives in fear every day. Fear of what could happen, fear of what could be blamed, of what could go wrong.

 

_‘If you don’t behave, we would let the Boogeyman take you away. After all, the Boogeyman loves freaks like you’ –_ he remembered his Aunt used to say. _He wishes. Oh how he wishes – Please take me away, please save me. Hide me under the bed, in the closet, anywhere. Where his uncle can’t hurt him, where he can have enough food to satisfied his stomach, where he can sleep soundly with no worrying. Please._

 

Then he abruptly feels like someone was _there_ , in his cupboard, scrutinizing him.

 

“Hello?”

 

Silver-golden yellow eyes appear then. Waiting. Watching.

 

“Who are you?” – His voice was soft, hoarse like it hasn’t been used for days. Someone is in his cupboard with him. _No one_ has ever been in his cupboard with him (or than his spiders, of course).

 

Dull pale-grey skin, and glossy black hair. The being was tall, but it looks as if though that the small space his room provides does not bother him. Something _clicks_ just then in little Harry’s mind.

 

“Are you the Boogeyman?”

 

Black sand appears, slowly forming shapes, showing him his nightmares in forms. His Uncle’s belt, his Aunt’s frying pan, his cousin’s big fat piggy ass, and the bright green light that has always haunted him.

Little Harry is in awe. The black sand is very beautiful. They sparkle like stars in the sky at night, so soft, so smooth, and so warm – like a mother’s touch.

 

**_“Are you not afraid, my dear child? I’m the Boogeyman, and yet you pray for me to take you away from your family.”_ **

**_“I wonder, how many children out there who are just like you? So scared, yet so brave. Fear the life they live in, yet facing_ ** **me _head on. How I wonder.”_**

****

Little Harry gains a Guardian that night. He gains someone who would be there for him through thick and thin. Someone who would protect him from harm as best as they could. But more importantly, little Harry gains a friend, a family he has always wished for (and if that _someone_ is the Boogeyman, well, that was just a bonus).

 

(Pitch Black watches little Harry in astonishment. So small, yet so brave. So obedience, yet so rebellious. So pure, yet already understand so much _how hard_ life can be. He wonders then if there are any more children like little Harry? Still pure, but not naïve. Wanting, wishing so desperately for someone to just be _there_. Oh how he wonders.)

 

 

 

**2.**

_“Hush, hush, hush_

_Here comes the Boogeyman!_

_Don't let him come too close to you_

_He'll catch you if he can.”_

_._

His Dad is drinking again.

 

He _hates_ it when his Dad drinks, which is most of the time. His Mom is off somewhere, ignoring them, oblivious to the turmoil and to the fear her child is experiencing.

 

He hates it when his Dad drinks. Hate it. Detest it. Loathe it. Always Captain America this, Captain America that. ‘ _How I wish you are more like him. Brave, strong, and righteous. How I wish I could trade you for him, my greatest creation.’_ Tony is his son, and yet Howard barely looks _at_ him. Always look through him with glazed eyes and muzzled mind, always wandering back to the good old days when he was standing side by side the American’s Hero. Always spend hours and hours looking for someone, someone that should be dead for half of the century instead of his own blood and family.

Tony is bitter. Tony is disappointed. Tony _hates_ how big of an impact Captain America was – is, for his Father. Hate how his Father still live in the past, and cannot _, won’t_ look to the _now_ and the future.

 

So Tony tore down the Captain America’s poster his Dad has left there in his room once upon a time. Throw out all the merchandise, burn down all the sheets, the clothes that even have remotely the symbol of a shield and star on it. It won’t make his Dad look at him the way he wants, but he _does_ feel better afterwards.

 

Anyway.

 

His Dad is drinking. And when his Dad drinks, he gets _violent_.

 

And Tony Stark is anything but _stupid_. Reckless, petty, bitter, yes. But not stupid.

 

So, when his Dad is drinking, Tony runs away and hide. He does not care it makes him a coward, does not care how prideful and stubborn he can be on a good day. All he cares about is _how not to get hurts_ , _how to live another day_. He does not hide in his room (his Dad found him there once. Broken ribs were not fun to have, he had trouble breathing for _months_ ).

 

There’s an abandoned room on the west side of the Stark Mansion that contained all the James ‘Bucky’ Barnes merchandise (there are more abandoned rooms which are like this in the mansion. Uninhibited, forgotten – _just like him_.).

Tony hides there whenever Howard drinks. But he still afraid to be found. Intoxicated as he is, Howard’s still a genius, still can be smart enough to figure out where his favourite punching bag could hide. There was a time his Dad found him hiding in Jarvis’s room when he was still small, still afraid of being alone, _of facing his Father alone_. He was found and dragged back to his room crying, kicking and screaming (he broke his hips that day).

 

So, Tony is in hiding, again. He was hunching, face hidden between his legs in the corner of the room, too terrified to even make a sound. _Just another night, another day for one Tony Stark._

 

But then he feels something is surrounding him. Small, rustle sound was heard. Being a curious boy that he is, Tony lifts his face to have a look.

 

_Sand_.

 

_No, his mind corrected, BLACK sand. How strange, how interesting._

 

**_“What are you afraid of, my dear child?”_ **

**_“What or Whom creates such terror, enough to prevent a mind, which is full of curiosities and imaginations, to ever find out the answers that are waiting to be sought?”_ **

 

Tony Stark finds a companion then. Someone to talk to, someone to express his feelings with. Someone who would be his _confidant_. Who would never care _what_ he _could not do, who_ he _could not become. Someone_ who would simply just is _there_.

 

(The Nightmare King stares at Tony Stark in puzzlement. The child is full of curiosity, full of questions, of the needs to know how the universe _works_. He should not have believed in fairy tales, should not have believed in _children’s story_. Yet, here he is, another child, another believer. Pitch is looked at, is talked and listened to. There is someone else to treat him like a _being_ , not a nightmare that needs to be defeated, not a nuisance that just won’t let go. _There is someone else, other than little Harry, glad to have him – Pitch Black, the Nightmare King – in their life_. Oh how his core _sings_ with contentment.)

 

 

 

**3.**

_“Hush, hush, hush,_

_Here comes the Boogeyman!_

_Tell him you got soldiers in your bed,_

_For he will never guess that they are only made of lead.”_

 

 

.

 

 

There is a small little boy. A boy who is too smart, too intelligent. A boy, whose brain is much more developed than a normal kid, who is awkward, desperately trying to survive in the sea of teenagers.

 

A little kid, who always wear a sweater vest, thick glasses and braces. A boy, who has a small, tiny, with a squeaky voice of a mouse. _Easy target_.

 

A small kid, who is left naked, tied up to a pole in the middle of the night with no one out there to help.

 

_Sniffled._

_No one cared_ – the small child realised, tears on his face – _I am too different from the rest. Even though I’m more intelligent, I’m still an easy prey. Oh, how I wish._

 

He is cold, he is alone. He was jeered at, was looked down. He’s used to the bullying, but this, this is new. _I guess the saying ‘teenagers are cruel creatures’ is true. Kids can’t understand how words can hurt others, teenagers just don’t care._

 

In the morning someone from the school would get him down. _But oh the humiliation_. The _humiliation_. He just _knows_ this memory will haunt him for the rest of his adult life. For he was too weak, too meek, too naïve to believe that someone would like to _talk_ to him, to be his friend, to enjoy his companionship.

 

****

**_“My dear child, how I pitied thee.”_ **

**_“Am I, the Boogeyman, what you really wish for?”_ **

****

 

Spencer regards one Nightmare King as one of his dearest friends. The one who helped him to overcome the nightmare that is his life. The one who was there when _everything_ was too much, when his Mother had her episodes, when his Dad simply gave up and left. _The one whose shoulder he cried on_.

 

 

(Pitch looks at one Spencer Reid with amusement. The boy is different from little Harry, who is brave and cunning; from Tony Stark, who is also a genius in his own right but more iron in his veins and more fire in his eyes. Spencer Reid is weak, pathetic, naïve and meek. But there is _stele in his bones._ The boy is special, but not because he’s a genius. He is _special_ because he is _weak_. He is weak yet he’s still _courageous_ enough to look at the one who had hurt him in the eyes and _smile_.)

 

 

 

 


End file.
